


Cine

by firearms57



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but also a runaans girl, dum gays, etharis a bean, featuring:, he say it real doe, hes cute tho, key word: try, oh no ethari whyd you spend so long making swords, post coin struggle, pregnancy talks, questioning parental worth, rayla is a failed condom child, rayla is a mamas girl, runaan has GAD, runaan tries carving, runaans a good boi, that is gae assery disorder, they kiss and im gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firearms57/pseuds/firearms57
Summary: Unfinished moonfam drabbles from my file folder.Title derived from the root of the word "cinema."
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (mentioned), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> Ethari spends too long at the forge.

Runaan rummaged through the small, pocketed drawers of his bedroom vanity, searching for the soothing balm that would ease his fool of a husband’s pain. He reached into the vanity’s main compartment and cursed when his knuckles brushed along yet another knob in the wood’s surface. Ethari liked pockets in clothes, and he liked drawers in his furniture. It was endearing but it made it near impossible to find lost objects in a pinch.

Runaan muttered to himself as he searched, “ ‘Just one more,’ you said. ‘It’s no different if I complete five than if I complete six,’ you said. ‘You worry too much,’ you said.” He scoffed. “I should have known better than to listen to you. You scold me for overworking myself, but moon knows you do the same.” 

His fingers tripped over smooth glass, and he pulled the bottle from its hidden compartment with a flourish. “ _ There  _ you are.” 

“Ow…” Ethari’s voice came muffled from between the pillows. He lay on his stomach, shirt removed and carefully folded across the back of his desk chair, revealing the broad swath of muscle he’d abused in a pique of bluster the previous evening. He tried to lift up on his elbows and promptly fell back on his face.

Runaan softened at his pained groan, lowering the bottle to his side. “Stop that,” he said. “You’ve been trying to move for the past thirty minutes. Haven’t you learned from all your past failures?”

“I’m sorry,” Ethari said from between copious amounts of fabric. “Have I mentioned how sorry I am?” 

“Yes, now stop it,” Runaan said crossly. “Your misplaced guilt won’t help you heal any faster.” 

Ethari’s neck shuddered on what might have been a nod.

Runaan fussed with the jar for a few moments and muttered a quiet curse. “I wish you could open this for me,” he said, trying to work his thumb beneath the lid.

Ethari’s laugh was warm. “I could, but I doubt you’d let me.” 

“You don’t move,” Runaan snapped. “You’ve done enough moving for the next fortnight entirely.” 

“No movement? For two weeks?” Ethari’s voice took on a teasing note. “I didn’t think you’d want to turn this into a personal challenge, and I doubt you’d last. We both know how you love —” 

The lid popped open. 

_ “There we go _ ,” Runaan said, trying and failing to control the angry flush on his cheeks. Thankfully, Ethari was turned away and thus none the wiser to the havoc he’d wreaked on Runaan’s complexion. 

Stil, as he coated his hands in sapant balm and moved to Ethari’s side, he couldn’t help feeling exposed. Ethari was empathetic like that.

“What scent is it?” Ethari asked. 

“Verbena. What else?” 

Ethari hummed, then sighed happily when Runaan’s fingers touched his flesh. Besides the pleasant scent, the balm was infused with a numbing agent. “I do like verbena,” he said. 

“Yes, I noticed the first time you bought our soap. And hair tonics and skin oil and scented candles and fireplace incense —”

“It smells good,” Ethari retorted. He tried to sound defensive, but his words slurred with fatigue, and a thought came to mind. 

“Ethari,” Runaan asked, “how long were you with those swords?” 

“Only until third moonrise..”

Runaan stilled and leveled a slightly worried, slightly perplexed look at the back of Ethari’s neck.

“You do realize it’s only just past dawn?” he said.

“Yeah. Anice’s daggers are more intricate than the other five. They’re ridged, and the serrations have to be sharpened individually or the blade will warp —”

“Love,” Runaan interrupted softly, “as interesting as your metalwork is, I’m going to have to ask you to be quiet and sleep.”


	2. Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-coin, the family struggles to settle.

“That’s enough.” 

At Runaan’s command, Rayla immediately fell out of position, arms dropping to her sides. When he took part in drills, it was easy to see the remnants of their training and the fact that, despite her age and skill, she had never quite stopped seeing herself as the child under his wing. 

Biting back a smile, Lain turned to Tiadrin, shouldering the blunted edge of her training sword with ease of practice. Like him and Runaan, she seemed more herself with a weapon in hand, and she’d confessed to him once in the safety of the moonlight that she rarely felt like she held control over the world around her, and at least with a blade she’d have a better chance of it than without. She’d lost something on the day of their failure, and it included more than a blow to her confidence.

Still, there was little of that in her expression, now barbed and fierce; the way she got before her stamina truly waned, when a competitive edge squirmed its way alongside analytics and turned calculated strikes just the barest bit brash. As new recruits to the Dragonguard, the others often complained that he’d seduced her fighting style with his own aggressive position, to which he always gave his thanks, because if Tiadrin was willing to compromise on something as integral as military technique, that was nothing if not a compliment. 

“A draw, as ever,” Runaan stated as he came over. In casual dress, the toll of his profession was abundantly clear; scars a stark contrast to the noble flush he’d gained in the few rare weeks of summer light. The evening light catching on the edge of his faux horn and arm. Despite his injuries, he held himself with all the grace he’d had in his prime, a different elf than the one Lain had known--if he could wear the marks of his failure as a badge of pride. 

“Yes.” Tiadrin shook out her hair, sending a smattering of sweat droplets out across the ground at her feet. “It’s getting stale.”

“You’ve gotten faster,” Rayla offered, then shook her arm out on a grin. “And stronger.” 

Tiadrin smiled sweetly. “And you know just what to say to make the loser feel like she’s won. Your mage taught you well.” 

At mention of said mage, who was probably off traipsing the Skywing lands with Ibis, Rayla flushed and looked back to the ground. Lain coughed to hide his immediate reaction of “Moon above, that’s  _ adorable _ ,” knowing Rayla would be less than pleased with his commentary; some parts of Tiadrin were too stubborn to die off in the passing of generations.

Ethari, who had been watching with half an eye from his place on the steps, abandoned the bit of metal he’d been engraving when he saw they’d finished. He yawned, draping sleepy arms around Runaan. 

“Who won?” he asked, more for the sake of conversation than for any real commitment to the answer. He’d made clear that he cared little to entertain the deeper parts of their petty competition.

“No one,” Tiadrin said and let her sword-tip drop to the earth. She scowled good-naturedly and shook the hilt of her blade in Rayla’s direction. “My daughter’s might knows no bounds.”

Lain laughed and dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t blame her. You knew what you were getting into when you brought a child into the home.” 

“Your fault for putting the idea in my head in the first place.”

“Your fault for whelping her.” 

“Maybe don’t discuss her while she’s right in front of you.” Ethari suggested. 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Rayla said pointedly, but she was smiling. They all were. The years had not been kind to them, but they’d come out the other side alright. It put a warmth in Lain’s chest. 

Runaan stretched, leaning back into Ethari and drawing his arms above his head. “I could go again,” he said, and his tone was just challenging enough to pique the interest of a certain competition-happy elf. 

“So can I,” Rayla said, answering too casually and fooling no one.

Runaan pulled away from Ethari and gestured with his hand. “Take your stance, then,” he said, as if they hadn’t just been making easy conversation. 

Tiadrin snorted, grabbed Lain’s arm and turned in the direction of the Grove. “Have fun losing,” she called to no one in particular, though it was clear whom she was addressing.

“Hey!” Runaan managed to sound put off from a dozen paces away. “It’s not a fair assessment —”

“As long as half of you is missing,” Lain interrupted with a laugh. “So you’ve said every day for the past six months.”

“And I expect to be given the pity I’m due!” 

*

“She’s really fallen into the leadership role,” Lain chuckled. “Do you see how proud she gets when we follow through with her instructions?” 

“The Runaan in her,” Tiadrin said. 

She was glaring down at her hands as if they withheld an answer from the very root of her being, and he sighed to himself, suddenly weary. 

“Tiadrin.” He took hold of her hands, speaking softly. “Don’t do this to yourself.” 

“It hurts,” she whispered, “that I can’t be the way I want to.” 

“And what way is that?” 

She heaved a sharp breath through her mouth. “ _ Strong _ .” 

He prodded her in the side, and she twitched, evidently still sore from overworking herself. That was an issue that demanded broaching all in itself, but he set it aside for now and offered a gentle smile. “That’s what the past few months have been about, Tiadrin. Regaining the parts of ourselves that we lost.” 

“It’s not just the physical; you know that.” 

He scooted around to regard her. “Of course I know. Any elf can swing a blade. It’s strength of will that will let you hold your ground when you come face to face with a dark mage on the battlefield.”

She laughed bitterly. “I don’t think I could do that anymore.”

“Yes, you could.” 

The swiftness of his response drew her attention. He grasped her around the waist and hauled her into his arms. She was smaller than she’d been years ago, softer around the edges and furious over it. That rage was no doubt part of what drove her to train so hard. She swatted at him merely because she felt she had to before settling back against him, his chin on her shoulder, arms looped around her belly.

“Tell me what you mean,” she demanded. 

He nuzzled into her neck. “I mean,” he said, “that you’ve always looked at sentiment as a weakness.”

“It  _ is _ .” 

“Think of all that it’s done for you. Would you have had the strength to bear a child if you hadn’t had a family to support you? Would you have had the strength to leave her?” 

“No.” She sighed, took his hand and brought it to her lips. “And I couldn’t have come back to myself after all we’d been through.” Gentle fingers turned his gaze to hers. “I haven’t yet thanked you, have I?” 

“You don’t have to thank me for what I choose to do myself. Besides, if all you have to thank for my support is marital duty, I’d just as easily be in  _ your  _ debt.” 

Her eyes flashed, and her tone went teasing. “I’ll take it.” 

“Of course. What am I, if not your loyal vassal?”

She drew her voice dramatically. “Nothing. What use is an elf without his wife?”

He hummed, tightening his grip on her, breathing in her scent. Her fingers found his jaw, and he let her guide him up to meet her. She kissed him soft and sweet, running her hand through his hair until it could cradle the back of his head. 

He remembered when she’d been harsh, sharp-edged and rough, barreling through their pleasure with all the ferocity she did everything else. He remembered when she’d been cruel and called it “strength.” He remembered, too, that he had not had the resolve to her the wrongness of her assumption. 


	3. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan attempts a new sort of gift.

Runaan yelped and swung his palm up for inspection. A thin line sliced the flesh beneath his thumb, the knife sharp enough that the cut was clean and would have been missed if not for the drops of red welling at its edges.

“Did you hurt yourself again?” Ethari shouted from the other room.

“No,” said Runaan.

He looked down at the lump of wood in his hand. It was supposed to be a shadowpaw kit but it more resembled a snowelf that had erroneously believed itself capable of a tan. He fumbled with the eyes for a few minutes before he gave into frustration and set the knife down. He glared at it, as if it was somehow responsible for his failure. The blade was barely as long as his finger but somehow it gave him more trouble than a sword five times its size. 

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Runaan looked up to find Ethari hovering at his door. 

He peered in curiously. “What  _ are  _ you doing in here?”

Runaan held up the sad excuse for a shadowpaw. “Failing,” he said.

Ethari’s expression shifted from confusion to soft surprise. “Is that —”

“A poor excuse for a birthday present, is what it is.” Runaan sighed and stood up. “It’s always the lunablooms or a star plum if I can find it, and they’re lovely, of course, but you’re always so creative with your gift giving, I thought I’d try something different this year.” 

The floor creaked as Ethari’s heavy tread came up behind him, and he tilted his head in anticipation of the embrace. A warm chin came to rest on his shoulder.

“May I see it?” 

Runaan shrugged and folded his arm over his shoulder. 

Ethari tutted, grasped him by the shoulders and spun him around. “I’ll take it from  _ you _ , not your backside.”

Runaan’s expression went sheepish. “Sorry.”

Ethari kissed his cheek. “Take pride in all things, love, not just the ones you're good at.” 

“Even if what I’ve created is rubbish?” 

“Runaan, you wouldn’t stand to hear someone saying that about my work.” 

“That’s because they’d have to be a blind mouse to think so.” 

“Or perhaps just a critical eye,” Ethari said, then turned his attention to the previous matter.

Runaan snorted but said nothing and allowed Ethari to pry the carving from his hand. He knew his husband too sweet for harsh rebukes unless righteously vexed or worried to anger, but it still seemed unwarranted when Ethari hummed and said, “Well, I think it’s lovely.” 

Runaan blinked. “You’re teasing me.” 

“When it comes to your heart, never.” 

His brow furrowed further. “You can’t possibly look at that and see something _ lovely _ .”

Ethari’s lips twitched. “You know that’s not how it works. It’s lovely because you made it with the intention of pleasing me.” 


	4. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan returns. Feelings ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this was intended to be an emotional exploration of the unresolved tension that is harbored in etharis sorrow for runaans continued leaving. where hes leaving to, you can decide. modern or canon verse is not specified  
> be warned of feels

Runaan rounded the bend in the hallway, jaw tight, throat burning. He'd expected at least a moment to regain himself, at least a moment for Ethari to turn around, and he could catch his breath and pretend he didn't feel like he was dying —

But Ethari had not continued down the hallway, merely pressed against the wall to wait, and when Runaan appeared around the other side, he shot forward like a rocket. 

They met in a heated rush, and Runaan had not the bearing nor space of mind to uphold his firm tryst with dignity. Ethari's mouth was liquid, singing, trailing from his lips to his jaw to the supine arch of his neck, and — moving. Were they moving? He had lost his grip on reality, buoyed on a cloud of relief that pulsed with the divine burn of ecstasy. 

His back met the wall, jarring, and a sound escaped him. 

" _ Yes _ ," Ethari breathed, " _ talk _ to me." 

They were moving again, across the foyer, to the kitchen, and he made no objection when he was hoisted onto the table. 

"I thought you'd left," he said to the ceiling, and Ethari hummed a low note of disapproval. Warmth blossomed on his neck, hands and then the soothing brush of lips. 

"Why would I do that, honey," Ethari asked, "when you're already so perfect?"

There was a traitorous burn in his throat, and he swallowed on the weak hope that it might disappear if he asked nicely enough. Ethari's hands neatly clipped the two halves of his shirt, and he pressed forward with a hungry groan. "So fucking  _ perfect _ ."

Runaan arched into his touch, gasping. He yearned for things he couldn't voice aloud, hungry and unhinged. His control was slipping, and it  _ frightened _ him.

His hands, so steady hours before, shook with impatience, fear, longing, trapped between warring desires and the tangled edges between. He brought a trembling hand to his mouth. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't —

Ethari's hands fell to his hips, and his voice was a rusty murmur at his ear. "Slow down a second, love, and tell me you want me." 

"I —"

The inches between them became miles.

Runaan choked and fell forward, fingers clutching at Ethari's collar with sudden desperation.

"God, I want you," he blurted. "I want you so bad, it hurts."

Ethari kissed his brow. "And do you think it'll hurt more after you have me?"

"I don't know." He shook, grip tightening, nails biting through fabric and leaving marks on his palms. "Why don't I  _ know _ , Ethari? I don't know what I want."

"You don't know because you hurt, and pain confuses things." Ethari's hands rose to meet his and gently disentangled their grip. "Just slow down. Stop and think."

Stop and _think._ Thinking seemed a monumental task right now, but Ethari had asked it, so it was worth considering. Runaan struggled to rally the fractured pieces of his mind and found they'd broken further in his absence. What did he want? Memories flitted past on colored wings, stirred like a photo reel, highlights of his failures and missteps, his face a hazy smudge at the corners of club parking lots and empty cliffsides where the drop called louder than the ledge. There, the answer to that question seemed a trifle. He wanted to _hurt._

Nestled in Ethari's arms, he whispered, "I want to live."

Ethari's smile was brilliant. "Yes, baby," he breathed, reverent. "Tell me more. Speak to me."

"I want you." Runaan sucked in a breath, throat tightening before it released. He drew his head back and met eyes of molten gold, took Ethari's hand in his and guided it to his chest. "I want to feel." 


	5. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lain calls with unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side scene from my coffeeshop AU that I don't think will make it in, merely because of tangent.

It was nice to exercise in privacy, even if he did enjoy the change in atmosphere that a gym or dojo brought. He didn’t have to wait for the machine of his choice, or go through the discomfort of fending off another’s misplaced affections, and his shower was right across the hall when he finished. Which was nice, considering how much he hated the slick of sweat on his skin. 

He hit the treadmill for a hard hour before his energy began to wane, where he slowed to a walk for his cooldown. After, he challenged himself with the weights he had lined along his wall, moving up and up as his thoughts regressed to Ethari and what he was going to do about him. 

He was deep into stretches when a muted vibration rounded against his upper leg. Shifting to a cross-legged position, Runaan pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID: Lain. That was...odd. Ever the socialite, he often made plans on the weekends, rarely calling Runaan, unless to pester him into joining. Hadn’t he mentioned something about a date with Tiadrin?

Puzzled, he swiped his thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“Runaan, I —” 

Lain was speaking before Runaan had the phone to his ear, voice coming through the speaker rushed and urgent. He cut off abruptly. 

Runaan dragged the washcloth over his brow. “Lain?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I — I’m just, a bit scattered right now.” He swallowed audibly. “How — how are you?”

“I’m alright.” A pause. “How are you?” 

Lain’s laugh was on the cusp of hysterical. “Not great, buddy, not great.”

Runaan straightened, concern cutting through his confusion. Lain may not have been of the same linear cut as Runaan, but he hardly seemed upset about it, content to sway on spontaneity as easily as Runaan rode atop his neat, drafted plans. His discontent was strange, to say the least.

“Lain,” Runaan cut in, “what happened?” 

“I —” 

There was a long pause, then Lain continued in a choked off whisper, “Oh, God, she’s gonna murder me. You remember when we went to that restaurant a few weeks ago?”

“Yes?” 

“Yeah, and, and when you guys left, Tiadrin and I did, too, uhm —” 

“Lain.” Runaan leaned his head against the wall and softened his tone. “You’re not confessing to murder. It’s all right.” 

“God, it feels like it. I — Listen, we had a few drinks, we weren’t thinking straight. We...maybe had sex in the bathroom?”

Runaan sighed around the heavy feeling in his throat. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Unprotected?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, Lain.” Runaan brought a hand to his forehead and shut his eyes against a sudden headache. “You got a test and everything?” 

“Yeah, that’s why she wanted to meet me in the first place.” His voice dropped. “I don’t know if she wants to keep it. She… She was really out of it when she told me.” 

“And you? Do you want to keep it?” 

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” Lain blurted. “No? Yes? Is that selfish? I can barely take care of myself, how am I gonna take care of a kid? God, I'm just fucking terrified, you know?"

"No," Runaan said bluntly, "I don't. This is exactly the reason I avoided dating for so long. When you have a relationship, that's another life you're holding in your hands. You should have been more careful."

"I know." He sounded very small, just then. "And I suppose being sorry won't do anything."

"No, it won't." Runaan's tone shifted. "Remorse is helpful, guilt is not. You have a problem. What are you going to do about it?"

"Jesus, you're cold, sometimes." He laughed a little when he said it. "You know it’s not so simple,” he added a breath later. “There’s two of us, and, shit, I’ve known her for less than three months.”

Runaan hummed, drumming his fingers along the wall. “That sounds like you’re trying to convince me of something you don’t believe yourself.” 

“What?”

“I’ve known you a long time,” Runaan said. “You’ve been with a lot of people you claimed to love, and you were sure, so  _ sure _ of yourself. Somehow, those relationships never lasted.” He paused. “It sounds like you’re not sure anymore.” 

“No,” Lain said lowly, “I’m not.” He was quiet a moment. “What does it mean?” 

“It means,” Runaan said, rising to his feet with a heavy breath, “this time is different.” 


	6. What We Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lain and Tiadrin have a chat about difficult things.

At the edge of the forest, beneath a pair of ancient elms, the angled shadows of elven homes broke the woodland floor into sectors. Night does not mark the end of the Moonshadow day, and the Silvergrove was not yet asleep.

The once-crackling hearth had burned away to glowing embers and a thin wisp of smoke, November winds plucking the last vestiges of warmth from the fire. 

Lain shut the window to the cold and drew the curtains. The moon said it was hours yet to dawn, but a glance across the bedroom told him Tiadrin was awake. Though it was dark, he could see her perfectly, the sensitive tissue behind his retinas gone active in the gloom. She’d propped herself up on an elbow when he left the bed, and she watched him now from silverine eyes. 

Lain moved to the bedside and sat on its edge, fingers plucking at the coverlet. “Awake again?” His voice came a breath above a whisper. 

Tiadrin grunted. “Can’t sleep.” 

“Why?” 

“You know why.” 

His throat closed up, and he had to turn away. 

She spoke again. “I keep wondering if we’re making the wrong choice.” 

“Ethari said —” 

“Ethari is too soft for any decision but the obvious,” she interrupted, “and Runaan is too quick to pull back from what’s new. This isn’t like other times. We can’t rely on them to make our decision.” 

She was right. It was unfair to put the burden of such a choice on someone else, especially when it was their own impulsivity that had given way to it in the first place. 

Lain drew in a shaky breath. “You know,” he said quietly, gaze out the window, “I used to think I knew what I wanted. When I met you, I wanted a family. I imagined it, craved it.” He paused. “I had it all planned out.” 

Tiadrin sighed and scooted forward to wrap her arms around him. “You don’t plan the future. It falls into your lap, and you hope it doesn’t crush you.” 

Lain twisted and fell forward into her, trapping her against his chest, thighs on either side. He pressed his nose into her shoulder and breathed in her warmth, decided she wasn’t close enough and tugged her flush against him. 

“ _ Lain _ ,” she complained.

“I’m the future,” Lain said, his voice muffled by her shirt. “Crushing you.” 

“I see that.” She squirmed, wresting an arm from his grasp, and reached out to cup his chin. “I still need to speak with the future about the creature he put in my belly, if he’s not too much of a child to address things that distress him?” 

Lain nuzzled his head into her hand. “Sorry, he’s busy.”

“I’ll leave a message, then,” she said dryly, but her fingers firmed and she turned his face to look at her. “I’ve been busy these past few days. While you were worrying, I was thinking. A lot. It’s… It’ll be hard but not impossible, and we’ll have help. This isn’t what I expected, but —”

She faltered, confidence peeling away. She didn’t look away from him, but her fingers dropped from his face. 

Lain caught her hand. His eyes were intent, unmoving. “No, don’t stop. Say it.” 

Tiadrin stared at him. 

After a long moment, she finished, “But maybe it’s what we needed.” 


	7. Gallop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaan has trouble slowing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i skipped scenes midway and didnt bother to connect them. the break is marked with a -

Ethari pressed him to the balcony and kissed him. Runaan hummed appreciatively and brought his hands to rest on the broad shoulders that hung over him, bare and blissfully warm. Above, a blanket of ebony swathed the sky, dark clouds bolstered by the evening winds. Stars clustered like silver pinpricks around the moon, outshone but no less brilliant. 

Ethari pulled away, and Runaan chased after him with a low sound. Ethari stopped him with a hand to the chest. 

“Always rushing,” he said, and indeed his heart raced like a shadowpaw at full gallop. “Slow down with me.” 

Runaan followed the motion of his breath, tracing its path from parted lips to the gentle expansion of his abdomen. So solid, so even. Runaan’s own chest heaved, thin, unsteady. That was his way; even in passion, always a hair’s breadth from flight. 

Ethari bit his lip. “Still rushing,” he murmured. 

Runaan looked at him. “I — I  _ can’t _ do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because — well, because  _ you’re  _ here.” He made a vague gesture in Ethari’s direction and coughed to hide his blush. 

“I see.” Ethari’s laugh was merry, and when Runaan glanced back up at him, he found his eyes very well dancing. “I’ll have to help you then, I suppose.” 

“I don’t think you can,” Runaan said, “unless you plan on leaving.” 

“The opposite, actually.” 

“What —” Runaan started to say, but Ethari shushed him, wrapping his arm more fully around Runaan’s bare waist and pulling him in closer. He slid a hand between them and splayed his fingers across his chest, right over his heart. 

Runaan’s breath faltered, head going muzzy. 

“Shh.” Ethari squeezed his waist. “Breathe with me.” 

Runaan’s eyes slid shut. It was easier, in the dark, without the added stress of visual stimulus and the low, ember-like glow of the fading sun. Ethari’s hands were steadying, guiding, and pressed so close, it was easy to feel the weight of his breaths. 

They stood like that for a while, breathing together, the pace of his mind slowing from gallop to walk. After a few minutes, he even managed to smile. 

“There you go,” Ethari said. “That’s better.” 

Ethari’s weight shifted, touch firming, one hand sliding to the back of his head even while the other crept lower. Runaan’s calm vanished like supine mist, spine snapping back to rigidity, eyes widening.

He sucked in a breath. “Ethari, you said —”

“I know what I said,” he said softly, then chuckled. “You aren’t doing anything wrong, Runaan. This is how your body is supposed to react.” His fingers dropped, softly brushing the front of his trousers. “It’s all just communication.”

Runaan gasped and curled in on himself, pressing his forehead into Ethari’s shoulder. “Is that all I’m doing, then?” he asked. “Communicating?” 

“You  _ and  _ me, Runaan,” Ethari corrected. He took Runaan’s hand in his and guided it to the space between them. 

Runaan bit his lip and felt along the hard jut of flesh, heated in his palm. 

  
-

Ethari spun him around quick enough that he stumbled and had to catch himself on the balcony railing. He was greeted by stately scenery, a thousand masterful strokes of green and red and blue, the edges of the Silvergrove a veritable city of oak and elm. 

His eyes drifted heavenwards, and his breath caught. He smiled giddily. “Look at the stars,” he said. “The moon.” 

Ethari’s hand shot to his jaw. “Look at  _ me _ ,” he said, reaching around to take him in hand. 

Runaan’s lips parted on a moan, his hands clenching, then falling lax. 

Ethari kissed his neck. “Keep that up,” he said. “I expect we’ll have a full bouquet on our doorstep come morning.” 

“You’re a smug bastard, you know that?” 

“Who wouldn’t be? Such a lovely elf, always so eager to please.”

Runaan made an affronted noise. “Whoever taught you entendre must be terminated immediately.” 

Ethari snorted. “You’re on your own. Tiadrin’s a beast.” 

Runaan hummed, leaning into Ethari’s chest, as his grip roughened, quickened. Ethari met him eagerly, pushing forward and trapping him against the balcony with his hips. His want was evident now, close as they were, and Runaan rocked back against him.

Ethari hissed and mimicked the movement, setting up a rhythm. 

“I suppose you want your own flowers, too,” he said, huffing in amusement. 


End file.
